The Art Of Living
by cate's corner
Summary: A short tag to Doppelganger. Another lost friend. Another grieving family. Lorne deals with both in his own, unique way.


The Art Of Living by catescorner

This is the only fanfic that I've written for SGA, but I've never posted it (amazing what you find when you're clearing out your folders). I wrote this after seeing season four's Doppelganger, and the unforgettable Sunday from season three.

It features Lorne, one of many background characters who grew on me as the series went on. He was such a strong and brave character - and easy on the eyes, to boot!

The end of Doppelganger shows Sheppard and his team in the Commissary, preferring to stay awake together rather than sleep. It struck me that Lorne wasn't there, and I always wondered where he might be instead. So with spoilers for both Doppelganger and Sunday in mind, here are my thoughts on how Evan came to terms with Kate's death. I've used some artistic licence with Kate's father, just because I thought it would fit so well with how Evan deals with their meeting.

I hope you enjoy it!

The Art Of Living

Standing in the doorway to his quarters, staring at the bed ahead of him, Evan Lorne sighed. He knew its comfort would be a welcome improvement to that rock hard bunk in the brig. And yes, he knew Keller had advised him to rest with a compassionate wisdom beyond her years.

But as he stretched kinks of stiffness from his back, Evan knew there'd be no rest for him tonight. Too much had happened, and he didn't know what part of those events had shaken him the most – the loss of his mind to that alien entity, or the life that it had so devastatingly claimed.

He was no stranger to death, of course. Life in the military had seen to that. Too soon, and too damn often. But to lose a colleague, a friend, to one so utterly senseless still tore at the humanity beyond.

Carson, to that damn bomb. And now Kate. Both taken before their time.

Gone, but never forgotten.

So… no. Despite his tiredness, Evan knew there was no way, in hell, that he'd sleep tonight. Instead he strode to his dresser, tugging out its top drawer with a fresh, duty fuelled purpose. Just as he'd done for Carson's family, he'd celebrate Kate's life the only way he knew how. He'd help them through their shock and pain. He'd give them this gift to keep her memory alive.

Within minutes, he'd sketched out his thoughts, quickly composing them into a more natural order. That had been one of his mother's first lessons, and he could almost hear her voice beside him now – gently reminding him not to rush, to make sure he was completely happy before he started to paint.

It made him smile now, the incalculable distance between them bridged by the power of human spirit.

Setting out his palette, just as she'd taught him, Evan took a deep breath and set gently to work.

Unseen by her subordinates, Colonel Carter would grieve for her friend. So would Sheppard, and the rest of his team. In their own, uniquely private way, everyone on Atlantis would remember Kate Heightmeyer. Inspired by a breathtaking sunrise, and a far more comforting voice in his mind, so would he.

For the second time that week, John Sheppard stared at his second in command in puzzled surprise. He hadn't tried to kill him this time, thank God. There'd be no murderous mutiny in the ranks today.

But Lorne's request, quietly made after a hesitant start, had still caught him off guard.

"Sir, I'd like to escort Kate's coffin, and… uh… stay on afterwards. Not long, just a few days."

This wasn't the first time he'd requested a 'trip home' at such short, unscheduled notice. He'd made it when they'd lost Carson – the first person to ask to visit his family after the funeral.

Since he'd been left behind to command Atlantis in his absence, his CO had granted it without question. John still remembered the astonishment he'd felt when he'd visited Carson's mother soon afterwards – in truth, just barely aware of the praise that had unwittingly revealed his second's unsung talent.

'_Aye_, _Colonel_, _such a lovely lad._ _I cannae understand why he_'_d want to keep such talent so secret._'

John had understood it, though, and he'd smiled – as proud of Evan Lorne then as he was now.

He knew he'd grant this request, with the same mixed emotions that he could see in Evan's eyes – keeping his secret safely between them with an approving nod, and the rare drop in military formality.

"As soon as you're ready, Evan. Take as long as you need."

Steering the car against a snow covered curb, Evan felt sorely tempted to stay inside its warmth. He hadn't been home since the spring, and… damn, this wasn't pleasantly warm California. This was upstate New York, and… _damn_, he'd forgotten how cold East Coast winters could be.

But he'd come here for a reason. A personal mission that he _would_ complete, however cold it was.

Bracing himself against it, and the sad duty ahead of him, Evan wrapped the parcel beside him into another protective layer, then tucked it carefully under his coat, and stepped out into the falling snow.

He knew Kate's father was a retired Army doctor, so he'd dressed appropriately to pay his respects – straightening his service medals, and his hat, before striding towards the Heightmeyer's house.

The path ahead of him was already swept. The door beyond was already open, framing two sombre-clothed figures. Stopping in front of them, Evan dutifully took off his hat, and announced himself with a textbook salute.

"Major Evan Lorne, sir. I served with your daughter, and she was a credit to both of you. My deepest sympathies for your loss."

Nodding his thanks, David Heightmeyer smiled approvingly, returning his salute, before letting his wife lead him inside. They'd known he was coming, of course, but they were still intrigued by his request to see them. Kate had mentioned him sometimes in her letters home, and they could see now why she'd spoken so highly of him.

Quiet and respectful, he still held an unmistakeable aura of command - a surprising ability for someone so young. It earned him another approving smile that seemed to put him more at ease as he placed a large, painstakingly wrapped parcel on the table beside him.

"I don't want to intrude too much on you, sir, especially as such a difficult time. But I wanted you to have this. It's just… well, something to remember her by."

Glancing at his wife, David Heightmeyer could see she was as intrigued as he was. In the days since Kate's death, they'd had the inevitable throng of sympathetic friends and neighbours. Cards and flowers filled the small living room. They'd brought them immeasurable comfort. Yet none of these gestures of sympathy could equal the painting that caused both of them to gasp in surprise.

Expectant blue eyes silently sought their approval. It clearly meant a lot to him, and… by God, he'd get it.

Composed with astonishing skill, this was their daughter as they'd always want to remember her. Full of life, and beauty, and spirit. Kept alive for the rest of time, by the hand of a true artist.

Every bit as impressed as his wife, David Heightmeyer finally met that artist's eyes, and smiled – accepting all the care, and love, and emotion that had gone into it with just two heartfelt words.

"Thank you."

Never comfortable in the limelight, Evan just shrugged while he studied his latest work. He was his own fiercest critic, and painting eyes was always tricky. It took time, and patience, to bring them to life.

Twice now, if for the saddest of reasons, he'd achieved it. So yes, he could smile now, as Kate's portrait took pride of place over the mantel. Just as he'd promised her, he'd brought her home. And in this house now, just as she'd have wanted it, Kate Heightmeyer's spirit lived on.


End file.
